Lectionary Commentaries for July 7, 2024
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost

One of the more unnerving aspects of Mark’s narrative is that people we might expect to grasp Jesus’ significance end up failing to do so. Presumed insiders expect the wrong things from Jesus and turn out to be outsiders.

That Markan tendency ought to inject a large dose of humility—if not faithful discomfort—into those of us who preach and those to whom we preach. Jesus will do his thing, whether it matches expectations or not. Frequently, it’s “not.”

Jesus receives a cold reception in Nazareth (which Mark refers to only as “his hometown,” but see 1:9). That’s familiar to Gospel readers, expressed most starkly in Luke 4:16–30 (see also Matthew 13:54–58; John 4:44). It reminds us of an earlier scene in Mark, in which Jesus’ family comes to seize him, worried about his sanity, and he effectively declares himself to be part of a different kinship circle (Mark 3:19b–21, 31–35).

Jesus’ former neighbors do not deny that he does and says amazing things. Either their initial wonder morphs into skepticism or, more likely, the astonishment is an expression of the umbrage they feel toward him.

I imagine their thoughts along the lines of, “Who does this guy think he is? We know all about how badly he treated his poor family a little while ago. What kind of son leaves behind his mother and siblings to lead a movement that’s probably going to get him and a bunch of people in trouble? He was better off staying home and continuing to work as a carpenter [a better translation of tektōn may be day laborer or stonemason].” The “offense” they take entails rejection or disengagement (skandalizō, which means “to stumble,” means the same also in 4:17; 14:27, 29). We’re witnessing more than confusion or hurt feelings.

Jesus interprets the rejection as part of a prophet’s job description. His explanation of what happens to him was widely proverbial, as seen, for example, in its resemblance to something the philosopher Plutarch observes: “The most sensible and wisest people are little cared for in their own hometowns.”¹

The negative reaction in Nazareth strangely hinders Jesus’ abilities there, although he manages to dunk on the Nazarenes’ “unbelief” when he nevertheless heals “a few sick people” before leaving town. Opposition to the reign of God takes a toll and has lasting consequences, but it never has the last word.

Lest readers mistakenly presume that the hometown rejection might inhibit Jesus’ power going forward, immediately he takes steps to expand his ministry’s reach. His 12 disciples, who were originally described as deputized preachers and exorcists (3:14–15), receive marching orders.

He instructs them to model simplicity and dependency in what they wear and carry. They adorn themselves with a confidence that God or strangers will provide what they need. They avoid appearances of seeking personal gain. By staying in a single house in any given place, they make it clear that they aren’t trying to game their way up toward greater creature comforts. If no one listens to them, they should sever associations, refusing to take even the town’s dust with them on their way out. That detail sounds harsh, but so too is any village’s refusal to welcome undersupplied travelers in the first place.

Mark indicates that the disciples succeed in performing the kind of ministry Jesus has been doing up to this point. The positive outcomes owe themselves to several things. First, Jesus is the source of the Twelve’s authority; disciples are primarily followers. Second, the word of God, when spread extensively, always yields a harvest (see 4:1–20). Third, the reign of God that Jesus initiates has a corporate or shared character; it’s less about elevating Jesus than about his commitment to create a new state of affairs.

Rejection from familiar people in Nazareth sits in contrast to hospitality from strangers around the region. The juxtaposition makes a powerful statement about Jesus’ tendency to frustrate conventional expectations. It makes us wary about presuming that we have Jesus figured out or that he must serve the canons we construct to define the contours of theology, virtue, and mercy. The larger narrative of Mark likewise reminds us that concealing and revealing happen in occasionally unexpected ways. The best way, it seems, to perceive the reign of God is to stay close to Jesus and follow where he goes.

The juxtaposition on display in this passage does not imply that Jesus always rejects the old in favor of the new. It certainly does not mean that Jesus turns from recalcitrant Jews and Judaism to hospitable gentiles and Christianity. Too many interpreters indulge anti-Jewish conceit by twisting passages like this one to make arrogance and unbelief symbolic of Judaism. It is vital to note that everyone in the passage appears to be Jewish—the population of Nazareth as well as the villagers off the narrative stage who hear Jesus and the Twelve preach.

Jesus’ “authority” is an important concept in Mark (see 1:22, 27; 2:10; 11:27–33; see also 3:22), so it is significant that he bestows authority to his followers to perform ministry in this passage (verse 7). Preachers might explore the significance of the church—following in the way of the disciples—as a community authorized by Jesus to speak and act on his behalf. It’s a frightfully important responsibility, and congregations sometimes shirk from using such language because temptations to misuse it are so powerful.

The word authority also carries a lot of baggage in our culture, and so Christians are wise to parse it carefully and refer to it graciously in our diverse religious landscape. Preachers can note that Jesus does not authorize his emissaries to go out as blowhards or know-it-alls. They are not sent to “claim the culture” for him or anyone else. They are guests, humbly willing to commit themselves to the well-being of the people they encounter, where those folks reside.

Notes

1. De exilio 604D; quoted in Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8, Anchor Bible 27 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 376.

The book of Ezekiel situates us in an exilic community of Israelites in Babylon. This is some years after the Babylonians besieged Jerusalem in 597 BCE and decimated the city in 587 BCE, including the Holy Temple. Ezekiel is a priest, an elder, caring for his fellow Jews in a foreign land in the wake of trauma. This book of his oracles begins with tough love for a stubborn and rebellious people and moves toward visions of hope and restoration for the people of Israel.

An awesome sight

Thirty-year-old Ezekiel was living among his fellow exiles by the Kebar River when the event that launched his prophetic career took place (1:3). Kebar in Hebrew means “joining.” I wonder what it means for the man to receive a vision and the role of prophet from and for a community of exiles beside the water of “joining”? I wonder how important joining is to a people who have been cut off, separated from their homeland?

Through an apocalyptic vision, Ezekiel is invited to be a catalyst between Yahweh and the diaspora in the rebuilding and reorganization of a restored Jerusalem. This is his God-given task, even if the people to whom he will speak resist the words that lead to restoration.

If you wonder why he was knocked down, start with the first chapter of the book, where this divine council of architects for Yahweh’s redesign is described. Ezekiel likely struggled to find words for what he saw in this vision. Interspecies, androgynous creatures—Ezekiel mixes gender language and verb agreements as he recalls what knocked him off his feet when Yahweh’s hand rested on him (1:3).¹

Spirit

Spirit is an essential character in the book of Ezekiel. We meet Spirit (ruach) here in chapter 2—Spirit (wind, breath) to give life and reanimate that which seems no more. As Yahweh speaks and sets up a distinction between the divine one and the mortal (or “man,” depending on your translation), Spirit bridges the gap and dances between the two as kinetic energy.²

Spirit also acts in mighty ways in one of the most beloved visions of Ezekiel (chapter 37). Here we have an invitation to hold space for Spirit to take center stage in the season after Pentecost. Spirit in this text can be understood “in the sense of vigor or even courage” for the human to respond to God’s call to share the vision of God with fellow mortals.³

Where do you need courage, preacher, to speak words that lead to restoration? Where does the church need the courage to respond to God and reorder our lives according to God’s vision of flourishing and justice?

Courage for our time and place

Many in our communities may not know that we are in exile from the neighborhood/society that God desires for us to cultivate and inhabit. We may not know that life as it is now—with rampant gun violence, impatience, fear, anxiety, and war—is an exile from the kin-dom of God we can choose to live within, on earth, not just someday in heaven.

I am not a fortune-teller. I do not know what you, preacher, and your community have read in the news or experienced in your community this week. But I know that this is Fourth of July week for the United States of America, and that Canada Day was recently celebrated as well. I know that it takes a spirit of courage to address the ways our nations miss the mark of their own ideals, let alone the greater ideals of God. I know that it is challenging to hold in tension the gratitude many feel for their nation and those who have sacrificed for freedom. And I know that Christian nationalism—isms of any kind—threaten the flourishing of our communities.

And then, of course, there is still the trauma of Palestine/Israel—the lands on which our sacred texts were formed and where Jesus’ feet touched the earth. I know that it may seem useless to speak of a gospel that transcends any one nation when so many people in many nations on this blue-green marble have stubbornly grasped a message of national-religious chosenness and superiority as the good news for us and bad news for anyone who tries to get in our way.

Yet, that is our task. And we can trust that the same Spirit of courage that ignited Ezekiel ignites us today.

Notes

1. Priests for Equality, “Ezekiel,” in The Inclusive Bible: The First Egalitarian Translation (New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2009), 301.
2. Ibid.
3. Moshe Greenberg, “28–3:15 Ezekiel’s Call: The Commissioning (1:28bβ–3:15),” in Ezekiel 1–20: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (New Haven: The Anchor Yale Bible, 1983), 60–81, accessed April 13, 2024, http://dx.doi.org/10.5040/9780300261356.0008.CH002.

This reading combines three different genres:

• a brief narrative about Israel’s elders seeking to join David’s kingdom in verses 1–3;
• two summaries: one about David’s 40-year rule in verses 4–5, and the other about the city of David and his increase in power in verses 9–10; and
• finally, a report of David’s conquest of Jerusalem in verses 6–8.¹

Narrative perspective matters

With the request of the tribes of Israel that David be their king, 2 Samuel 5:1–3 concludes a string of episodes about Saul’s demise and David’s rise. These verses present their request for Judean leadership as a logical consequence of the aftermath of the Israelite kingdom in 2 Samuel 2–4. The narrative from 2 Samuel 1–5 portrays David foremost as supportive of Saul and his house, and innocent of Saul’s and Jonathan’s deaths, an aspect that David’s lament over Saul and Jonathan in 2 Samuel 1:17–27 highlights.

A consistent overtone is the matter-of-fact note about David’s increase of strength and about Saul’s failure to stabilize his rule in his northern kingdom: “David grew stronger and stronger while the house of Saul became weaker and weaker” (2 Samuel 3:1). This plot line presents the covenant between the elders of Israel and the anointing of David as an inevitable, logical consequence of the demise of Saul’s kingdom. The passage assiduously paints David’s unlikely rulership over the northern kingdom of Israel as the result of a peaceful royal transition that happened upon the northern tribes’ own request. Verses 1–3 offer the outcome of the contrasting leadership styles of the two rulers Saul and David. The Israelite elders’ request comes to David in Judah’s deep south in Hebron. As Saul had no living heir, he is seen in contrast to the founder of the Davidic dynasty.

The preacher may consider putting in perspective the relevance of the unification between Israel and Judah in biblical historiography with historical constellations and fault lines between the northern and southern states in US history.

David as resourceful guerrilla

The note about David’s conquest of Jerusalem (2 Samuel 5:6–9) adds two aspects to this picture: First, it clarifies the City of David as David’s personally conquered property without the aid of Judean troops. Second, it complements the portrait of David as a resourceful strategist, shrewdly conquering the city by way of entry via the water supply system. This is in line with stories such as the smart shepherd boy David’s unlikely victory over Goliath. In sum, David conquers Jerusalem without the use of military power, and the underlying contextual character of David as shrewd ruler of a small city-state lends this passage relevant context.

Post-colonial perspective matters

The pro-Davidic bias of 2 Samuel 5 requires a post-colonial lens that sets right the point of view and the dimensions of the Judean monarchy. In this story, God sides with the Judeans under David’s leadership. Notably, the narratives about the Judean rulership over the tribes of Israel are written from the perspective of the small Judean state, in comparison with what is, in the time after Solomon, the much larger entity of Israel. The Judean scribes perceive this larger northern state of Israel as misguided through King Saul’s hubris that significantly contributed to its fall. The narratives about David’s kingship assume the military limitations of the Judean state. Judah relates itself in these traditions to Israel’s much more powerful monarchy.

Historiographical perspective matters

In their original context, these narratives portray an ideal past that foreshadows the role the southern state of Judah acquires after Israel’s destruction and deportation in 733/722 BCE, when Judah was the sole remaining state with Judean religion and culture. Avoid any silent identification with the supremacy of the City of David from a US perspective, since this may be misleading and is hardly warranted. The preacher owes the audience a clarification about the original context of the celebration of military protection of the fortress of the City of David.

This is even more necessary, because this Sunday’s lectionary marries David’s conquest with the triumphant overtones of the celebratory remembrance of Zion’s security in Psalm 48. Both celebrations of the stronghold of the City of David refer to a distinctive Judean experience. The Zion psalm remembers the bare survival of a tiny vassal state’s capital against the overpowering army of the Assyrian Empire. Yet this joyful remembrance of the safety of the fortified City of David came at the price of much of Judah’s destruction during this same campaign.

Prophetic perspective matters

How might the preacher best address the allusions to Zion’s security? With references to the challenges of prophetic ministry in the city of Jerusalem in Ezekiel 2, and with the more general challenges of prophetic leadership in Mark 6:1–13, the lectionary invites reading David’s conquest and rulership in contrast to and warning against any posture of cultural superiority. This is a fitting warning, especially since Jerusalem’s conquest in 587/586 BCE serves as bedrock of a counter-memory that drives much of exilic and Second Temple prophetic tradition. The readings for this Sunday put any boasting about the City of David into perspective as they point to the challenges of the prophet’s call to a stubborn people in Jerusalem in Ezekiel 2.

The preacher’s historical perspective matters.

At the time of this writing, a military conflict between Israel and Gaza is in full swing. Preachers may choose to address today’s realities of the “City of David” in Jerusalem and the old city of Hebron (next to the modern Israeli settlement Quiryat Arba’). Both sites of David’s rule are holy places of a shared Jewish-Muslim tradition. The tomb of the patriarchs, the Ibrahimi Mosque, was the place of the 1994 massacre caused by Baruch Goldstein, an American-Israeli physician and extremist of the far-right ultra-Zionist Kach movement.

How might a constructive discourse about national identities and the rhetoric around the City of David and Hebron look? Above all, it may be helpful if ministers can reflect on their own, the religious assembly’s, and the secular community’s conceptions: How are they possibly shaped by a US colonial gaze, and how could they include experiences from either side of the frontier of the Palestinian-Israel war?

Notes

1. The author thanks the Rev. Dr. Kim Beckmann for commenting on earlier versions of this commentary.

Psalm 123 is the fourth psalm in the collection that is usually known as the Songs of Ascents (Psalms 120–134), or more literally, the “Songs of the Going Up,” or the “Songs of the Steps.” In all likelihood, the “going up” was a journey to Jerusalem as was decreed in the Torah (see Deuteronomy 16:16; Psalm 122:4). This is why the Common English Bible has chosen to use as the title for Psalm 123 (and the others in the collection) the more interpretive “A Pilgrimage Song.”

The likelihood that Psalms 120–134 originated as a pilgrimage collection is increased by the sequence of Psalms 120–122. Psalm 120 locates the psalmist outside Jerusalem and perhaps outside of Judah (verse 5; the locations of Meshech and Kedar are unknown). Psalm 121 describes a journey, and it is easy to imagine that Mount Zion is among “the hills” that the psalmist sees in verse 1. Psalm 122 locates the psalmist and others in Jerusalem. If this sequence is not simply coincidental, it makes sense that Psalm 123 comes next: the people of God are gathered, so now let us pray! Psalm 123 is a communal lament, the first complete prayer in the collection.

Origin and ancient context

That the first prayer in the collection is a communal lament is understandable, especially since it is likely that the Ascents collection arose and was placed in its current location in the postexilic period after a second temple had been built in 515 BCE. Conditions after the return from exile were not nearly as glorious nor harmonious as had been envisioned in Isaiah 40–55.

Psalm 120 introduces the collection by describing opposition (verses 1–2) and conflict (verses 5–7), and Psalm 123:3–4 is especially reminiscent of 120:5–7. Plus, Psalm 123:3–4 describes a situation similar to the conflict described in the postexilic book of Nehemiah (see, for instance, “ridiculed” in Nehemiah 2:19 and “despised” in Nehemiah 4:4, where underlying these translations is the same Hebrew word translated “contempt” in 123:3–4. Also, “scorn” in Psalm 123:4 appears in Nehemiah 2:19 and 4:1, where it is translated “mocked”). Certainty is elusive, but it makes sense to hear Psalm 123 in the narrative context provided by Nehemiah.

Trusting the sovereign God: Verses 1–2

The psalms of lament ordinarily contain expressions of trust as well as descriptions of trouble and requests for help. Expressions of trust often are in the final position, but here trust comes first. If we think of Psalm 123 as the gathered pilgrims’ first act of worship, then verse 1 functions rather like a call to worship. The phrase “To you” is emphatic since it comes first in the Hebrew as well as in the English. The focus is upon God, so whereas lifting up the eyes elsewhere suggests arrogance, that is not the case here.

The word “eyes” is repeated in each of the next three poetic lines (verse 2), a pattern that is known as step-like repetition and is particularly appropriate and frequent in these “Songs of the Steps” (see below).

The word “enthroned” is more literally “seated,” but here and elsewhere it communicates divine sovereignty (see “sits” in Psalm 2:4 and “enthroned” in 9:7; 29:10).

The proclamation of God as sovereign positions the pray-er(s)—note that verse 1 starts in the first-person singular, but the voice has become plural by the end of verse 2—as “servants” (or “slaves”) and “a maid” (or “slavegirl”). As Robert Alter points out, the mention of both “gender[s] conveys a sense of inclusiveness. Everyone in this community, man and woman, looks urgently to God for a sign of grace.”¹

Complaint and plea: Verses 3–4

The word “mercy” in verse 2 (or “grace,” as Alter renders it) occurs twice more in verse 3— another instance of step-like repetition (note also the phrase “more than” [literally, “sated with”] in verses 3 and 4, as well as “contempt” in verses 3 and 4). The petition “have mercy” (often translated “be gracious”) is frequent in the Psalms (see 4:1; 6:2; 9:13; 25:16; 27:7). The syntax here is noteworthy, since the two instances of “have mercy” surround the reference to “LORD,” as if to encompass God with pleas for help. The root hnn in its adjective form is a fundamental attribute of God in Exodus 34:6 (New Revised Standard Version: “gracious”). It can connote forgiveness, but it can also suggest divine provision and protection, as here.

As suggested above, it makes sense to hear Psalm 123 in conversation with the book of Nehemiah, but similar complaints occur in other psalms as well (see “contempt” in 31:18; 119:22, and see “scorn” in 22:7 [New Revised Standard Version: “mock”]; 44:13; and 79:4 [New Revised Standard Version: “mocked”]). Both Psalms 44 and 79 are communal laments, and this may suggest the likelihood of a postexilic origin.

Then and now

Regardless of the ancient origin and context of Psalm 123, it remains a useful and instructive prayer for the people of God. Very few North Americans have experienced contempt and scorn for their faith; however, Psalm 123 is a reminder that faithful and humble submission to the sovereign God and God’s purposes for the world will inevitably put us out of step with a prevailing culture that encourages us to be self-sufficient and self-serving.

Especially when Psalm 123 is heard in conversation with 2 Corinthians 12:2–10 and Mark 6:1–13, the New Testament lections for the day, it will be a reminder that opposition and suffering are inevitable realities of the life of faith. In the midst of his suffering that included insults and persecution (2 Corinthians 12:10), Paul heard this divine response: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). It is for such grace that the congregation prays in Psalm 123, which invites us to pray for such grace as well. Such grace will give us the courage to follow Jesus by bearing a cross (see Mark 8:34), looking away from ourselves to say with the psalmist, “To you I lift my eyes” (verse 1).

Notes

1. Robert Alter, The Book of Psalms: A Translation and Commentary (New York: W. W. Norton, 2007), 441.

What is the true spiritual power?¹

What constitutes true spiritual authority? How do we distinguish true from false teachers and prophets? Who should we allow to influence us, and whose authority can we trust? And how do we respond when spiritual abuse is taking place? These questions set a stage for interpreting 2 Corinthians 12:2–10. They are as relevant in our time as they were in Paul’s day.

1. Countering fools

Our passage is located within Paul’s ironic “fool’s speech,” where he speaks sarcastically as a “fool” as he criticizes the way certain “super-apostles” are manipulating the Corinthians with their special claims to authority. Disguising themselves as “ministers of righteousness,” these super-apostles were turning the Corinthians into their “slaves”—preying on and taking advantage of them, putting on airs around them, shaming them and perhaps even abusing them physically (2 Corinthians 11:12–21). Paul is frustrated with the Corinthians because they seem so ready to submit to these individuals.

By contrast, Paul describes apostolic ministry as a transparent disclosure of truth accessible to everyone’s conscience before God. The proclamation that “Christ is Lord” makes us “slaves” to one another “for Jesus’ sake”: it cannot be used—without enacting a contradiction—to deceive, control, or manipulate others (2 Corinthians 4:1–6).

2. Credentials and hardships

In the rest of the speech, Paul addresses what probably were the ways these super-apostles sought to establish their authority. He begins by rejecting two common claims to authority in the ancient world: those based on having a particular religious, ethnic, or even “Christian” heritage (2 Corinthians 11:22–23) and those based on the mastery of adversity (2 Corinthians 11:22–29).

The one experience Paul does boast of is his experience in Damascus of being let down in a basket in order to evade persecution. What he boasts of here is not his prowess over suffering, but the help he has received from God—through others—in a time of weakness (2 Corinthians 11:32; Acts 9).

3. Visions and revelations

In addition to their credentials and capacity to master adversity, the super-apostles were probably also using their spiritual experiences as a basis for claiming authority over the Corinthians. In the ancient world, attesting to spiritual journeys was a popular way of claiming divine validation for one’s authority.

Paul rooted his own call as an apostle not in a human source but in “a revelation of Jesus Christ” he had experienced 14 years prior (Galatians 1:12; 2:12). In this passage he refers to his experience of having attained “the third heaven,” another way of speaking about Paradise. Yet Paul is not interested in boasting about these experiences. He does not even know—or care—whether they were “in the body” or “out of the body” experiences (2 Corinthians 12:1–4). Earlier in the letter, he has already made clear that whether we are “at home with the body” or “at home with the Lord,” our aim is simply “to please God” (2 Corinthians 5:9).

Paul grounds his authority in public, accessible truth: “what can be seen in me or heard from me” (2 Corinthians 12:6). He appeals to an authority far more trustworthy—and accessible to others—than his own fleeting experiences: “the one who raised the Lord Jesus,” who “will raise us also with Jesus, and will bring us with you into his presence” (2 Corinthians 4:14). And God’s grace cannot be contained but continually “extends to more and more people” (2 Corinthians 4:15).

4. Power in weakness

So if claims based on lineage, the mastery of hardship, or having special visions and revelations do not count, then how do we discern true spiritual authority? Paul describes a “thorn in the flesh” he has been given—so that he will not have too high an opinion of himself—in order to explain what true spiritual power is all about.

We have no idea what this “thorn” actually was, but it probably was the kind of “slight momentary affliction” Paul refers to earlier in the letter (2 Corinthians 4:17). In 2 Corinthians 4, Paul draws on imagery from psalms of lament to describe his apostolic life: being afflicted but not crushed, perplexed but not driven to despair, persecuted but not forsaken, struck down but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:8–9). Like the psalmists, Paul mentions these difficulties not to highlight his mastery over adversity—or to let others know how much he has suffered—but rather to stress that God is our source of rescue amid all that we experience.

Even though Paul has asked the Lord three times to take away his pain—his “thorn in the flesh”—the Lord’s only response has been: “My grace is sufficient for you.” The sufficiency of God’s grace is directly related to the point that “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). The word for “perfect” (teleitai) in this verse is perhaps better translated as “reaches full maturity.” We mature as we recognize our weaknesses—our limits—and learn to rely ever more deeply on the power of Christ dwelling in us.

Only by relying on Christ and not ourselves (or any other human authority, for that matter) can we become “powerful” (dunatos) in the sense of being a source of succor for others (2 Corinthians 12:10). And this kind of spiritual power never seeks to dominate or control others, or claim superiority. Like a nursemaid or a parent, Paul’s goal as an apostle is simply to assist others as they stand in the truth of their own conscience before God—where they “test” and “examine” for themselves what it means to have Christ “in” their lives (2 Corinthians 13:5–8).

So what constitutes true spiritual power and authority? How do we distinguish true from false claims to authority? Our claim to authority has only one source: God’s rescuing us in our weakness in Jesus through the Spirit. Not only are appeals to that authority always public and accessible to everyone’s conscience, but they can only be used—without enacting a contradiction—for one purpose: building up one another so that we grow together, amid all that we experience, into the truth of our full maturity as human beings in Christ (2 Corinthians 10:8; 12:19; 13:10).

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website July 5, 2015.